He grunted, but otherwise remained pressed against her side.
“C’mon,” she cajoled. “It makes me anxious knowing you’re probably starving right now. Please eat.”
Silas’s arm flexed around her waist. Suddenly wide awake, his head reared back to fix her with a grumpy look. His cheeks were gaunt and the skin below his eyes was a deep lavender, but even when he was clearly exhausted, he managed an impressively fearsome glower.
“Stop that,” he hoarsely commanded.
“Stop what?”
“Worrying.” His nose wrinkled. “I don’t like it.”
Repressing a smile, Petra gently suggested, “Well, maybe if you ate a little something…”
Scowling, Silas levered himself into a sitting position and demanded, “Give me the food.”
Scooting back against the headboard, Petra reached for the plate but was stopped by Silas grabbing her around the waistagain. Before she could protest, he’d arranged them so she was between his legs, her back pressed to his chest and his arms draped over her thighs. The position brought back flashes of decadent memories from the rut and made her tighten her thighs reflexively as a pulse of desire made it through her exhaustion.
The heavy weight of Silas’s head rested on top of hers, like he was just too tired to keep it up for long. The reminder of how tiredhewas helped banish some of her ill-advised lust.
“Poor demon.” Petra carefully leaned to the side and snagged the plate. Settling it into her lap, she urged him to take one of the burritos. “Just a snack and then you can go back to sleep. You really tuckered yourself out, huh?”
He grunted again, but she was pleased when he took the food and began to quietly chew behind her. After a moment, he mumbled, “D’you make enough for you?”
“One of these is mine, yeah.”
“Good.” Apparently already finished with his first, he snatched another burrito off the plate.
Petra relaxed into him as she ate her own meal. Her eyelids grew heavy at the now familiar motion of his breathing, the scent of him, the way he mindlessly nuzzled her neck every few minutes.
When she finished her food, Silas moved the plate back onto the table and took an impressively long pull from the jug. He offered her the jug, but it was too heavy for her to drink without spilling everywhere, so he had to help her.
Done for now, he set it aside and slumped back against the headboard, his arms loosely wrapped around her middle. His head drooped low, until the fall of his curls brushed her shoulder. Just when she thought he might’ve fallen asleep, he muttered, “You fed me.”
Petra pressed her cheek to his. “You’re my mate.”
The cool tip of his nose kissed the shoulder that his too-big shirt exposed. “Didn’t scare you off, huh?”
“Nope.”
“Didn’t hurt you?”
She couldn’t be entirely sure, but she thought he held his breath as he waited for her answer.
“No, you didn’t.” Petra stroked the contours of his corded forearms, memorizing their topography. “I liked it.”
Gently lifting his arms — something he probably wouldn’t have let her do if he weren’t so exhausted — Petra turned around to straddle his waist. Silas watched her, his eyes glowing faintly in the soft darkness of the bedroom, as she cupped his lean cheeks.
“Is it always going to be like that?” she asked.
“Pretty much.” He tilted his head into her right hand. “If we don’t have kids, it’ll be every year.”
She sucked in a deep breath, very aware that they weren’t just talking about the rut. They were talking about the future. About what their lives would look like.
It was an alien thing for her, the idea that she had a future to think about, let alone a life that stretched beyond a few months and a few fervent desires.
A part of her shied away from it. After all, who said she had a real future? She was technically a fugitive. It was only a matter of time before someone suspected her for Antonin’s disappearance, if they didn’t already. Nothing was certain about her life.
And yet she was certain about him.
